


In Dreams

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prospit is long gone, your dream self long dead.  But that doesn't mean you can't dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams

After the game, you spend most of your time sleeping.  
  
This isn’t too different from your habits before everything went to hell, but your reasoning is totally different.  Your narcolepsy is still there, yes, but it’s not the sole cause.  Besides, Prospit is long gone, your dream self long dead.  
  
But that doesn’t mean you can’t dream.  
  
In fact, it’s thanks to her that you’re not attacked every time you close your eyes.  She’s always there to greet you once you’re pulled under, constant as the tide and calming as the sea.  Her smile terrified you at first, but it’s gentler now, a genuine happiness shining through.  
  
She pulls you into a hug and then you’re kicking off, weaving through uncharted territory.  There is no life here, no space, but you still feel magical.  
  
When you wake, you swear the whole thing was a dream and nothing more, but you find yourself giving in to your narcolepsy, just to be sure.  
  
\--  
  
You open your eyes and Feferi is holding a hairbrush out to you.  Her curls billow out in tangles behind her, as if she were submersed in water instead of floating in limbo.  Her eyes are wide and bright behind her goggles, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no.  
  
She settles herself between your legs as you perch on a ledge, bringing up a hand to wrap around your thigh and letting her temple rest against your knee.  There is so much hair in front of you, snarled and tangled and wild, and she trusts you to set it right.  When you take a fistful in hand, it’s thick and lustrous.  You wish yours would be this beautiful.  
  
You start at the very tips, working at each knot slowly.  She glubs a little as you set into a rhythm, and you can see her blush tyrian under her gray skin.  It’s a pretty color.  She looks so exotic when she does that, and you want to see it more often.  
You mention offhandedly that this won’t get done in one night, but Feferi just smiles with her tiny fangs and flutters her ear-fins, making her jewelry jangle.  She just wants to be close to you, she tells you, and you can’t fault her for that – you feel the same way.  
  
You spend the better part of the next two months brushing her hair until it shines with its own luminosity.  
  
\--  
  
One night she’s brushing your hair when her fingers become the comb instead.  You can almost feel each strand slipping through her fingers like water.  When her fingertips crawl into your scalp and rub ever so gently, you let out a little noise of contentment, and she giggles above you.  
  
This is the first time you’ve really been touched by another person, and you wish she’d never stop.  
  
\--  
  
The hair brushing becomes a routine.  When you sleep now, it’s actually restful. The two of you lay side by side, looking up to the stars.  Occasionally she grabs your hand to trace out an alien constellation for you, and after a while, she forgets to let go.  
  
A year after the game spits you out, she tucks you into bed and gives you your first kiss goodnight.  You wake up with a gasp, feeling tingly all over, and when you touch your lips, they’re warm under your fingertips.  
  
\--  
  
That first kiss leads to another.  Leads to more.  Eventually, Feferi kisses you to sleep every night.  She says it’s a way of telling you until we meet again.  
  
Whenever you’re awake, you find yourself daydreaming about it.  You start popping more of your melatonin.  
  
\--  
  
One night, one kiss isn’t enough.  For either of you.  
  
You wake up shivering, then fall back asleep within two seconds, your face back in Feferi’s hands, her smile not six inches from yours.  Once to fall asleep, once to wake up.  You don’t want it to stop.  
  
You spend the rest of the night in a sleepy, hazy delirium of kisses, and you learn why they call it completion.  
  
\--  
  
It’s never enough for her.  She has to keep pushing the boundaries.  
  
One minute you’re taking a history test, the next your lips are fizzing and your body is in Feferi’s grasp.  She misses you when you’re awake, she tells you, and she pouts so deliciously that you want to kiss her again.  
  
You do, waking up for long enough to grasp the pencil more firmly in hand, but then she pulls you under again.  This time you don’t let her near you.  She needs to know that she can’t do this all the time – that you have a life outside of hers.  
  
Every word of yours cuts her deeply.  She’s dead.  This is her only life.  You can see, now, how much she envies you.  
She wakes you up just in time for the class bell.  Your teacher lets it go, but only this once.  
  
\--  
  
She doesn’t understand why you want to stay up late, go out all night and get by on as little sleep as possible.  She’ll act like she’s done kissing you awake and asleep and then she’ll get you when you’re at your most vulnerable.  
  
You sit her down for a talk when you finally get your driver’s license.  If you have a fit at the wheel, you could die.  You could hurt other people.  She’s trying to listen, you hope she is at least, but she keeps tossing her hair and rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.  
  
You wonder for a moment whether she wishes you were dead.  It would be oddly sweet, coming from her.  
  
\--  
  
You’re angry.  You’re upset and you’re screaming and you’re drunk as all hell.  
  
It’s always been interesting to you, how you can still be intoxicated in your sleep. She’s mad that you showed up like this, and you’re mad at her for being dead, for keeping this bubble of memories to herself.  There are things you want to remember but can’t, things that you don’t want to recall but have to relive, and the alcohol only does so much.  
  
She doesn’t kiss you.  Not on the lips.  She understands, at least a little.  She tells you that Dave is fine, he’s living with Tavros and Aradia and he’s happy.  You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse, but with that thing she’s doing with her hands, you almost don’t care.  
  
\--  
  
It’s the night before your eighteenth birthday and you’re sound asleep.  
  
Feferi is ranting at you.  You’ve clearly aged five years since you’ve been here, and she still looks her six sweeps.  She hasn’t matured any, either.  She’s packing her things into a clamshell suitcase and yelling words you never hoped you’d hear from her.  How she’s too good for you.  How she caught you in her net like a cuttlefish and kept you out of pity – and not even troll pity, platonic pity, like what you’d feel for a subordinate.  How she’s setting you free now that you obviously don’t need her.  
  
You thought she was a constant.  She was always there for you.  And now there is a hole in your memories where she once lived, a puckering wound that needs a suture or you’ll bleed to death, you really will.  
  
Death means nothing without her waiting here for you.  
  
\--  
  
At college, they wonder why you wander around the campus so dazed.  You don’t have the heart to tell them why.  You’re neither awake nor asleep.  You can’t remember what you’re supposed to forget.  And most importantly, you do not dream.  
  
Prospit is long gone.  There’s a troll-shaped hole in the last seven years of your life.  And day by day, you’re disappearing too.


End file.
